


Show Me Your Teeth

by TrebleTwenty



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Danger Kink, Dom/sub Undertones, Explicit Consent, Kissing, M/M, Soft Dom Hot Rod, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Teeth, Teeth kink, Tribadism, how is that not a tag?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:21:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27585361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrebleTwenty/pseuds/TrebleTwenty
Summary: Hot Rod asks to take a closer look at Deadlock's fangs.
Relationships: Drift | Deadlock/Hot Rod, Drift | Deadlock/Rodimus | Rodimus Prime
Comments: 9
Kudos: 118
Collections: HotterLock Week 2020





	Show Me Your Teeth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cincilin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cincilin/gifts).



> I wrote this in a single 3 hour sitting after midnight with Cincilin live-reading it back to me, a deeply feral experience I will never forget and always treasure. I think I was possessed.

“They’re kind of big,” Hot Rod said. 

“Uh,” said Deadlock. 

“Not that that’s bad!” he hurriedly backtracked, windmilling his arms in protest.

“I should think not,” Deadlock sniffed, but he couldn’t help sagging a little at the release of tension; the relief. Hot Rod grinned sheepishly at him from across the floor of the warehouse.

They’d known each other for only a short while, but to his eternal shame, Deadlock already liked Hot Rod enough that the idea of him being uncomfortable with his teeth hurt, really, and more than he would have preferred. They’d barely been able to meet up more than a handful of times, and graduated from just racing without speaking to each other even more recently, but Deadlock liked Hot Rod enough that losing these meetings would be a blow. He liked Hot Rod a lot.

“I knew a couple of mechs with sharper teeth back home,” Hot Rod mused, looking up with a little frown as he recalled, “but none quite like yours. Look at _those_ -”

Hot Rod pushed away from the wall he’d been sitting against to lean in close to Deadlock with little enough warning that he ended up slightly out of focus.

“Primus!” Deadlock swore as he hurriedly adjusted the aperture of his optics. “A little warning!”

“Sorry,” Hot Rod said, not sounding sorry at all. “I just…”

His hand reached up, ever so slowly, to hover over the tiny divots in the metal of his lower lip that his fangs made when his mouth was closed. 

“Hot Rod?” Deadlock asked softly, not entirely sure what was happening. He felt all hot, suddenly, hyper aware of all the points of near-contact up and down the length of his frame and Hot Rod’s. If Hot Rod wanted to relax, the thought came unbidden to his processor, he could be straddling Deadlock’s lap with only a couple of adjustments. 

“Can I…?” Hot Rod asked, gesturing. Deadlock’s energon was pounding through his lines; roaring in his audials like something vicious and hungry. 

“G-go ahead,” he whispered, looking down his nose to watch Hot Rod as he - ever so slowly - lifted Deadlock’s top lip out of the way to get a better look at one of his fangs. 

“Woah,” Hot Rod breathed, running a fingertip up and down the length of it, from where the pointed tip indented his lower lip to its root inside his mouth, Hot Rod’s finger slipping up under his lip and massaging gently. “That’s sharp.”

Deadlock didn’t dare move, didn’t dare say anything, deathly afraid it might break the spell and put a stop whatever was happening right now. He was used to being feared. He was _Deadlock_ . He was the most dangerous mech in most rooms he walked into, and he took _pride_ in that. Hot Rod simply refused to be afraid of him, meeting the bared teeth and openly hostile attitude that had sent bigger mechs than him running with a revved engine and a challenge to ‘bring it on, Decepticon’. Here and now, with Hot Rod hovering over him, curious and bold, Deadlock could finally admit to himself which reaction he found more compelling.

Hot Rod’s other hand came up, tapping on the underside of Deadlock’s jaw, and Deadlock’s fuel pump skipped a beat. He felt like his processor might be about to overheat. Did he? Could he? 

Slowly, Deadlock opened his mouth. 

Hot Rod made a bright, interested noise and just _put his hand in Deadlock’s mouth_. Just like that. The intrusion pressed down briefly on his tongue, making him open his jaw slightly wider, and felt his other fang with two fingers, running them up and down its length, caressing it. 

Without warning, Deadlock’s cooling fans kicked on. 

“Is that…?” Hot Rod asked. Deadlock made a noise, because he couldn’t answer in words, because Hot Rod’s hand was still in his mouth. 

“Oh!” Hot Rod exclaimed, and withdrew it. 

Deadlock looked at him, his chest heaving, his fans still whirring merrily like they hadn’t just horribly betrayed him. Hot Rod looked back, optics bright. His fingertips glistened slightly in the light, _damn him_. Deadlock couldn’t take his optics off them. 

“Deadlock?” Hot Rod prompted. There was a ghost of a smile on his face, his mouth quirked up slightly at the corners. “Are those your cooling fans?” he asked.

“Y-yes,” Deadlock choked out. “ _Yes._ ”

“Really?” 

“Don’t you _dare_ ,” Deadlock snapped, suddenly, unable to stand the smug, delighted tone of his voice, “make fun of me. Don’t you dare.”

Hot Rod’s face fell. 

“I would never!” he cried. “I wasn’t, I… Deadlock, I would never make fun of you, or _anyone_ , like that!” 

Deadlock’s spark throbbed, desperate to believe him, but years of living in his frame and experiencing his life just wouldn’t let him. 

“Why were you…?” He gave up, and wordlessly gestured to his mouth. It felt empty, somehow, his fangs throbbing for Hot Rod’s touch again.

“Because I like them,” Hot Rod insisted, his usually bright and sunny face turned deadly serious. “I wouldn’t lie.”

“Huh?” 

“I like them,” he pressed. “They suit you.”

“But… but… they could hurt you?” Deadlock replied, still confused. Hot Rod, looking sad, close to pitying in a way that itched at Deadlock to pull away, reached out and took Deadlock’s hand. 

“But they won’t,” he said, his thumbs rubbing circles into Deadlock’s palm like the pattern his fingers had rubbed into one fang. “They could, but they won’t.”

“I…” Deadlock said, without any idea of where he was going with it. His hand tingled with Hot Rod’s attention, shockwaves of excitement shooting through his frame. “I’m…”

“They won’t,” Hot Rod repeated, looking imploringly at Deadlock. “Let me show you.”

Caught between his Dead End-forged and Decepticon-honed instincts - that this was a trap, betrayal was coming, that Hot Rod could not see him let his guard down - and his desires - for Hot Rod to keep touching him just like that - Deadlock froze, for just a couple of seconds. Finally, he offlined his optics and nodded, quickly and sharply, almost desperately. 

He heard a sharp, happy intake from Hot Rod and then he moved closer, reaching for Deadlock’s jaw again, which fell open with only the lightest tap. He settled himself down in Deadlock’s lap, knees splayed open either side of Deadlock’s hips, points of contact between their frames lighting up in Deadlock’s sensory network until he felt like the whole of him was on fire, focused entirely on the mech on top of him and what he might be about to do. 

“Just relax,” Hot Rod murmured. “You don’t do that very often, do you? Just relax.”

He was so close, his voice coming from right next to Deadlock’s audial. He could feel, like the ghost of a touch, Hot Rod’s mouth hovering right above the plating of his neck, and couldn’t hold back a full body shudder as Hot Rod pressed a kiss there. 

“Relax,” the little autobot purred. “I’ll take care of you.”

He ran one finger - already wet! - along Deadlock’s bottom lip, adding a thumb and tugging it out ever so slightly, chuckling a little to himself as Deadlock followed the movement like he was magnetised to it. Shifting his weight slightly in Deadlock’s lap, his finger slipped into Deadlock’s mouth and found one of the fangs he had been caressing earlier again, running teasingly up and down the length of it. Deadlock sighed. 

“That’s it,” Hot Rod encouraged, as his finger made little teasing tap, tap, tap motions against the tip of the tooth, flirting with danger without ever fully committing to it. “ _Good_.”

He was so close now, pressed fully against Deadlock’s front, leaning his full weight against him. The other hand - the one not exploring his mouth - rubbed gentle circles into the bulk of his shoulder while his hips stayed frustratingly, maddeningly still against Deadlock’s own, which were already beginning to instinctively twitch upwards. 

Hot Rod, in a move that would have Deadlock squawking in offence at the presumption on any other day but in this shocking, dreamlike moment made his spark whirl in its casing, pinched his tongue between finger and thumb and drew it ever so slowly out of his mouth, making a bright, interested little noise. Leaving it there, he again returned to exploring Deadlock’s sharp teeth, stroking each fang in turn. 

Deadlock felt excess oral fluid well up under his tongue and, with nowhere to go, spill over his bottom lip and drip down his chin. His jaw was beginning to ache after holding it open for so long for Hot Rod to investigate to his spark’s content, but how could he even consider closing it? How could he even ask? 

“Good boy,” Hot Rod said, and withdrew his fingers, tapping underneath his jaw as a signal to close it. Deadlock drew his tongue back in and complied, feeling strangely bereft despite himself, but Hot Rod wasn’t done with him. One of his fingers drew a long, wet trail down the centre of his chestplate, drawing away teasingly just above the junction of his hips, and Deadlock goddamn _whined_. He didn’t even have the extra processing power to be mad or embarrassed about it, either, every diode and sensor in his entire frame entirely focused on Hot Rod and what he might do next, how he might make Deadlock feel next. 

“Do you feel nice?” Hot Rod asked. “Was that nice?”

“Mm?” Deadlock hummed. Hot Rod’s finger was still drawing little circles at his midriff, and he found he didn’t have much room in his processor for anything else.

“ _Deadlooooock_ ,” Hot Rod coaxed. 

“That’s nice,” Deadlock admitted quietly to the top of Hot Rod’s head. His cooling fans were _screaming_ , his chest heaving as he tried to draw in air to cool his molten internals. 

“I’m glad,” Hot Rod praised. He leaned back, ever so slightly, and before Deadlock could chase his warmth he cupped Deadlock’s face in both hands and pulled him down into a kiss. 

Hot Rod was… hot, for want of a more imaginative word, but Deadlock had never been all that imaginative with his words in the first place and certainly didn’t have room for any others in his processor besides ‘ _yes’_ right now, because Hot Rod was kissing him, slow and sweet and filthy, their mouths moving together in harmony. Deadlock’s engine growled in approval, and he wrapped one arm around Hot Rod’s back, between the two wings of his spoiler, to pull him in closer. 

Deadlock was big enough to admit to himself now it was finally happening that kissing Hot Rod had been a tantalising thought at the back of his mind for _weeks_ , but the experience was nothing like he’d imagined. He would rather have died than ever said it out loud, but he’d more expected them to share a gentle, almost romantic peck on parting. This was _all_ fire, Hot Rod’s lips moving surely and determinedly against his, breath hot, his moist tongue flicking out from behind his lips every so often to tease at Deadlock’s mouth, asking - no, demanding it open. Deadlock complied with another groan, Hot Rod’s tongue immediately pressing in and licking against his own wetly, little sighs from both of them escaping from between their locked lips, until suddenly, with a stifled gasp, Hot Rod drew back. 

Deadlock’s optics onlined hazily, his vision slowly coming into focus to find Hot Rod drawing a finger along his own lip and looking down at it in shock. 

“Wha-?” he asked, before his own optics widened. There was a little spot of energon right there on Hot Rod’s fingertip, and before his gaze another beaded up from a little cut on his bottom lip. 

“Wow,” Hot Rod said giddily, “I guess they _are_ sharp.” He laughed, a little hysterically. 

“Hot Rod, I’m sooo _ooooOh Primus_.” Deadlock began to apologise, breaking off into a strangled gasp as Hot Rod sucked his bloodied finger into his mouth and withdrew it, agonisingly slowly, until it was glistening clean again. He looked up at Deadlock, his gaze hot and dark and smouldering with something that Deadlock didn’t even recognise and was shocked to see on his face, before dragging him back in and kissing him with enough enthusiasm that Deadlock swayed with the force of it. Following the suggestion, Deadlock laid back slowly, drawing Hot Rod down with him, until he was flat on his back with Hot Rod sat directly atop his panels; a fact that was now occupying a good 40% of his processing power. 

Hot Rod, his mouth moving against his own furiously, was what filled the other 60%, every single sense filled with Hot Rod’s heat and passion; his frame only aware of Hot Rod on top of him, his audials full of Hot Rod’s desperate little gasps that escaped their kiss, the scent of their arousal heavy on the air. Hot Rod licked into his mouth again and Deadlock yielded beneath him, letting Hot Rod’s hot tongue run against his fangs, swirling around one in little circles, before he pressed in even closer somehow and _sucked the tip of one fang into his mouth_.

It was only the very tip - even Deadlock’s impressive teeth were not so long as that - and ordinarily he would have been angry with Hot Rod for being so careless with their sharp edges _again_ but he couldn’t - he didn’t - he could never even have _imagined_ . He _wailed_. 

Hot Rod drew back, panting, his optics huge and delighted. He ground down with his hips, slowly and deliberately, once, just to see how Deadlock gasped and threw his head back with the superheated pleasure of it, and then did it again with a breathless little laugh. 

Deadlock felt wild, drunk on Hot Rod, the heat of him against his body and the daring, reckless way he took his pleasure and delivered it upon Deadlock in turn with all the passion Deadlock had first seen when that little magenta racer had first pulled up next to him, revving his engine.

He craned his neck up for another kiss but Hot Rod pushed him back down with a hand to the chestplate.

“Do you-” he panted “-do you want it?” He ground his hips against Deadlock’s again, just to punctuate his point, grinning wildly as Deadlock gasped and grabbed hold of him almost hard enough to dent.

“Frag you!” Deadlock snapped. Hot Rod cackled. 

“You _do_ , you do, you want it so _badly_ ,” he sang, his hips moving in slow, determined circles. “Say you want it, tell me you want it, please, please, _please_ ,” he chanted, teasing himself almost as much as he was teasing Deadlock with the anticipation, petting at his finials and tugging at his bottom lip and laughing brightly as Deadlock snapped at his hand as he withdrew it. 

“ _Frag_ ,” Deadlock groaned, his head thudding back against the floor. “You know I do, you spawn of Unicron, I _want_ it, Primus _please_!”

“Good boy,” Hot Rod said, slow, dark and satisfied, and snapped his panel open. 

The sheer, scorching heat of him was apparent immediately, Hot Rod’s valve moving in slick and hot figure-8s against Deadlock’s own panel, previously trapped lubricant now flowing freely. Deadlock looked up at Hot Rod, transfixed, as his optics flickered offline and his mouth opened ever so slightly with a little flash of tongue, tiny ‘ahs’ of pleasure escaping. 

Deadlock’s frame was quivering all over with the anticipation of feeling their bare arrays finally grinding against each other, but he waited for as long as he could possibly bear, just watching Hot Rod in pleasure, using his grip on his waist to pull him down harder into each movement. Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore, and his panel slid open, lubricant gushing out and spattering the floor. 

“Yes!” Hot Rod cried, immediately grinding down harder, and Deadlock met him thrust for thrust, their arrays moving slickly against each other, shooting hot bolts of pleasure through their frames. Looking for a better angle, Hot Rod threw one of his legs over Deadlock’s, pressing his array against his thigh and shoving his own thigh straight against Deadlock’s folds, and both of them groaned. 

“I’m going- to be a fragging _mess_ ,” Deadlock gasped, as Hot Rod left wet marks on his thigh, chasing his pleasure. 

“You _love it_ ,” Hot Rod purred, shifting his knee until Deadlock could grind his anterior node directly against it. He leaned down and licked Deadlock’s neck. 

Deadlock felt like he could happily live in this moment forever, with Hot Rod on top of him gasping and shuddering in bliss, his own frame filled with molten pleasure, but all too soon, of _course,_ he felt that rising tension inside him, building in a slow and steady wave, half the physical sensation, and half, if he was honest with himself, Hot Rod’s intense, delighted, almost proprietary gaze burning down on him as he ground out his own pleasure against Deadlock’s thigh. He was trembling with the anticipation.

“Oh!” Hot Rod said. He sucked his thumb into his mouth, circling his tongue around it, and withdrew it when it was glistening with moisture. Hot Rod reached down between them, out of Deadlock’s sight, and Deadlock nearly screamed with relief when he felt Hot Rod’s touch against his anterior node. One, two, three firm strokes, and Deadlock’s vision whited out. 

When he came to, Hot Rod was still moving determinedly above him, making desperate little sighing noises. Deadlock tightened his grip on Hot Rod’s hips again, drawing him down more forcefully at the apex of his thrusts, and before long Hot Rod was gasping loudly and following him over the edge. 

He collapsed down on top of Deadlock, letting him take his full weight, uncaring of the mess that they’d both made of each other’s plating, and shook and twitched with his release. Deadlock held him close, strangely proud of himself. Hot Rod gasped for air as he recovered, his fans finding very little in the way of cool air with them both pressed together, still superheated with arousal. 

Hot Rod began to laugh, little breathy giggles that Deadlock feared he was going to develop an automatic response to.

“That was fragging _fantastic_ ,” he said, strangled.

“You’re telling me,” Deadlock wheezed. He felt a little like he had after the battle of Kith Kinsere, when an Autobot heavyweight had done something to him that could only be described as running him over. The medics had had to peel him off the battlefield. The experiences were very similar.

Hot Rod’s hand came up to stroke lightly along the edge of his finial, sending a pleased shiver through Deadlock’s frame, and his own hand came up over Hot Rod’s back to clutch him closer in response. _Let_ them be dirty. _Let_ them be messy, sticky. This was more important. 

“Hey,” Hot Rod began slyly, and instead of feeling apprehension, Deadlock felt only excitement rocketing through his exhausted systems. “Same time next week?”

“You expect me to wait a _week_?” Deadlock demanded incredulously. 

**Author's Note:**

> Wig.


End file.
